Sult
by Norwegian boredom
Summary: A drabble with Norway. Angsty probably. You need to read it to understand it.


**Hello again. I know I should be working on the next chapter for 'Control', which I did, but I am currently unable to do so. Some production error in all the school laptops, so now I don't have Word to write in. Anyway, I halfway wrote this just so I could say this. And I also wrote it as I still have an RP buzzing around in my mind.**

**Anyway, please tell me what you think. Reviews are very welcome!**

**Ps. The title does not have anything to do with Knut Hamsund's book 'Sult'. And 'Sult' means 'Starvation' in English (?).**

**-Norwegian Boredom-**

_Fat/disgusting/stupid/fat/hideous/fat/stupid/idiot/cold/mean/fat/annoying/fat_

Sverre stared at his fridge, leaning over the kitchen table. Staring. Face blank. Somach empty. Clean.

Empty/hungry/starving/pure/light/hungry/pure/perfect/starving/empty/craving

He was so hungry, oh so hungry. A week long fast. He could do it, he was strong. It was day six. Almost over now. But he was so weak and so, so tired.

Alfred would be mad. Furious maybe. He had promised, Sverre had promised him. He wasn't supposed to fall back into his old habits. Alfred didn't want him to. He was worried, Sverre could tell.

Alfred had been sick with worry after he found out. After Sverre had been stupid enough to should have known better, he should have had some water, maybe even some diet coke. Anything to hide it.

But no, he had to be stubborn. He had to fight on. He needed to be empty, to be clean. He couldn't bear to look at himself, he was simply too disgusting.

_Fat/annoying/stupid/whiny/fat/annoying/cold/fat_

Sverre let his head bang against the kitchen table, relishing in the pain. Almost. His thin arms were wrapped around his tiny stomach. His feet curled back under the chair he was sitting on.

The tiny Norwegian hear his heart in his ears, beating weakly. Struggling. Too stubborn to give up as it fought for his malnourished body.

He was so tired; his eyes could close any second. He needed to finish this. He had to, for Alfred. for sweet, silly, loving Alfred. He had to take a bite out of that cheeseburger, he had to please him. Not worry him anymore. He was fine now. Sverre ate just fine.

That's what he told Alfred. He was fine. Healthy now. He had quit his habits. He was going to. Soon. A little later. Honestly.

His stomach cramped weakly, crying for food. After this fast he would quit. It was enough now. He wanted to be healthy, proper healthy. The healthy they said was right. He didn't want to just yet, just a little longer. There was still fat right there.

The Norwegian's dull, blue eyes glided over to the coffee machine. Did he want any? He always wanted coffee. Stupid question. The black, energizing liquid that warmed up his bony, sluggish body. He did want coffee. He just had to get up and make it. Come on. Move. Now would be nice.

He couldn't do it. There was nothing left. He couldn't move from the kitchen table, only stay there slumped over it as his eyes closed tiredly. He would have to make coffee later; he just had to sleep for a little while.

_Tired/ sleepy/ exhausted/ shut down/ nothing/ tired/ dozing/ tired/ yawning/ tired/ blinking/ tired/ sleep._

Sverre wondered if Alfred would visit again today. He hoped so. He liked that. Alfred was so energetic, he was contagious. He brought happiness and laughter and he was the only one. Alfred made feelings well up in Sverre's chest. He gave him hope, will. Sverre wanted to get better by just being with him. He wanted to please. He wanted to share his feelings for Alfred. He wanted to make Alfred as happy as Alfred made him.

But he had to get skinnier, smaller. He needed to get thin first. He wondered if Alfred would tickle him again. Would he prod and poke at his tummy again? Would he feel his fat rippling under his skin again, sucking in those fingers? Make him pull back in disgust as he finally realized how fat Sverre really was. Would he leave him then?

No, he couldn't. No. That couldn't happen.

Sverre got up, standing by the table as he tried to steady himself. He felt sick. He wanted to throw up. His insides were crawling in agony, pushing acid up. A tingling sensation numbed his body, all sound disappeared. His throat closed up and he tried to swallow. Everything was black, he couldn't see anything.

He took a shaky step forward, pushing his body towards the sink so he could throw up. His knees buckled under him and he hardly registered his thin, bony body crumbling to the floor.

His cheek was cold. His eyes were dark. His breath was short. The only sound; his heartbeat. Pounding in his ears. Skipping a beat now and then. It was fighting for him, doing its best. It was so brave but how could it be enough? He didn't try to get up off the floor, not even his fingers would move. He wanted to scream, cry. He wanted Alfred. He needed a hero.

He was so hungry.

**-End.**


End file.
